James Axler – Watersleep

“Too busy trying to rebuild that leaky piece-of-shit submarine,” Carter replied.

“He’s more vulnerable than I expected,” Mildred replied, her beaded plaits clicking softly as she turned her head to look down from the rooftop they were using for hiding and observation. “Lots of empty buildings and not enough men to properly police each one. This base might actually be a threat if Poseidon had the manpower to take care of it.”

“Guess his plan to bring back the military isn’t going as smoothly as he figured,” Carter noted.

“I want to take a look inside the base hospital,” Mildred said. “Men come in and go out on a regular basis. Must be a reason. They might have supplies we can take back, too.”

“Sure,” J.B. said. “We’ve still got about half an hour before the excitement starts.”

“We can go in as we head back toward the wag,” Carter added. “The hospital’s right on the way.”

“Wait, what’s that?” J.B. asked, seeing movement on the roadway below.

THE WAN FIGURE with long red hair who had exited the squat building that housed the brig no longer even remotely resembled the killing machine that had run rampant only moments before. This woman looked ill, as if she wouldn’t be able to stay on her feet long enough to make it across the paved roadway. She paused, hovering in the flickering light of a single working streetlight. The sky was dark now, and it would have taken a close inspection to see the traces of red on her silver-tipped cowboy boots and the dry­ing ribbons of crimson on her clothing. Her hands were nearly clean, since she’d found a bathroom with water in a sink and a bar of ancient deodorant soap. She’d quickly washed the blood from her hands and fingers, half-sickened by her actions, necessary as they might have been.

Across the street, on the roof of another one of the flat, two-story buildings, the trio was watching the woman’s progress, unsure of how to proceed. This was the first woman they had seen on the base. No one said anything as they waited, until the light re­vealed the color of her limp yet still luxurious hair.

Those in hiding knew the figure and the warning signs of fatigue she was now exhibiting. At least, two of the watchers did.

“Dark night,” J.B. breathed.

“It’s Krysty,” Mildred stated.

“Who in creation is Krysty?” Carter asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” J.B. whispered. “She’s heading this way.”

Mildred turned and approached the roof-access door. “Come on, come on,” she urged. “She won’t be walking for long. I know she’s called on Gaia, and we all know the toll that summons takes.”

“Who’s Gaia?” Carter asked peevishly, starting to grow annoyed.

“Later, Carter,” J.B. said. “It’s complicated, and we don’t have time right now for another one of your lectures.”

THE FRIENDS WERE ON the top floor of the two-story dormitory, and the room they were now in appeared to once have been a communal lounge for the enlisted men. Things were a bit messy perhaps, but still comfortable.

“Here, sit down,” Mildred said, gesturing toward the most intact chair. Obediently the flame-haired beauty did as she was told. Once Krysty sat down, J.B. removed his leather jacket and draped it around her slumped shoulders. The collar of his worn jacket was made of silky black fur, similar to her own long coat, and she gratefully lay one cheek on the softness. She closed her eyes and immediately began a gentle snoring through her nose.

“She’s zonked,” Carter said, delivering his diag­nosis. “They must’ve got her high on dreem or jolt or something.”

“Shut up, Carter,” Mildred said.

“Yeah, she’s always like this when she summons up the, um…” J.B.’s voice trailed off. How exactly did one explain Krysty’s mutie power? The sensing of danger, the reading of emotions, that was easy enough. Everyone had heard of doomies and their prophecies. The power of the Earth Mother was some­thing else entirely.

“Summons up what?” Carter asked.

“I’ll explain later,” J.B. said. “It’s complicated.”

A strong, well-developed woman, Krysty always looked much smaller after a dance with the explosive force of the Earth Mother. J.B. was shorter than her unusual height, yet seemed to still tower over her now. Even her prehensile crimson hair was slack, limp and unmoving.